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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542388">Panic attacks at 4.a.m and a phone call to a friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation'>Multifandom_damnation</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Bonding, Developing Friendships, Gen, Nightmares, POV Jonathan Byers, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Phone Calls &amp; Telephones, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:53:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>These days, nightmares are followed by panic attacks that make him feel like he's suffocating, and Jon knows that the last thing his family needs is to be woken up in the early hours of the morning to hear about his pathetic issues and calm him down from a childish panic attack. They don't need any more stress than they already have, and Jon isn't going to be the cause of it. But, despite his knowledge, Jon still wants to take to someone, anyone, to get his mind off of the monsters lurking in the shadows and the panic flowing through his veins.</p><p>He calls the first number off the top of his head without thinking about it first, and he finds solace in an unlikely friend.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Byers &amp; Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Panic attacks at 4.a.m and a phone call to a friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know I don't write much about Jon, but I actually really like him? He's such an interesting character, and in many ways, he was broken before the show even started. I just want to give him a hug, you know?</p><p>The phone conversation portion of this fic is much better than the first bit, but I'm happy with how it came out either way. I don't know what inspired this, but just picture Jon sitting on the couch, flopped over the arm with his hair in his face and his arms resting on the table, his chin partially pillowed on them, the phone against his ear with both hands holding it and using it as sort of pillow, the room bathed in a dull, yellow glow and the bottom half of the lamp lighting him up. Then imagine Steve sitting at the kitchen counter in his silent house with the phone to his ear and his elbows pillowed on the cool counter,  twirling the cord of the phone around his finger, illuminated in blue light as the only light source is the moon streaming in from the open window and later the slowly rising sun. I don't know. As I was writing it that came to mind and I thought it was worth sharing with you guys.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first thing he was keenly aware of when he woke up to darkness and a pain bursting behind his eyelids was that there was a scream building in his throat, and he bit it back before it could leave his lips. The last thing his mum needed was to worry about both her sons, even if nothing had gone wrong in a nice, long while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Jonathan sat up and rubbed at his eyes. It was still dark outside, and every now and then, a car would pass his house, it’s headlights illuminating the street almost painfully in the constant dark. In the next room, his mother slept, and in the room just beside it was his little brother. He could hear his mother muttering in her sleep, could hear Will’s snoring through the walls, and was assured that it was just a normal night, and he hadn’t been woken by something crawling through the halls to snatch them up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had gotten used to waking up from nightmares over the years with an aborted scream caught in his throat. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a problem, but nobody in Hawkins would understand what he and his family had gone through, and everybody in his friend group not only understood but endured the same fate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flames danced behind his eyes, and screams rang in his ears. He might have dreamt of Will, lying prostrate on the ground as a demogorgon tore him to pieces, Nancy with her hair bloodstained and half her face missing, Joyce being dragged away, kicking and screaming, with blood streaming down her face, and everyone else, just beyond his field of vision, screaming for him-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon swung his legs off the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his hair. It was slick with sweat, and his shirt clung to his body. He was no stranger to Upside-Down induced nightmares and the panic that usually followed, and he felt it rumble through his body like an approaching storm, a clutching of his heart and a burning behind is eyes, and all he could do was breathe through it, slowly, evenly, until it died down to the familiar dull ache that he carried with him most of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only brightness in his dark bedroom was his alarm clock on his bedside table, and the green electronic letters read 4:46, and he resisted the urge to groan. He knew now that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. He looked at his pillow mournfully. It wasn’t exactly nice while it lasted, but he missed it already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Jon extracted himself from his bedroom, stepping around the things scattered around his bedroom floor, careful of the squeaky door hinge, and manoeuvered his way down the hallway as silently as he could, watching out for any of Will’s stray dice that had evaded his careful eye while he was packing up this afternoon. Stepping on a d4 was like trodding on a caltrop. He knew from experience.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their house was still a mess, and he suspected that it always would be. The alphabet was still painted on the lounge room wall in crude dark pain. Will’s map, drawn on individual pieces of paper, was still pinned to the wall in places where they hadn’t had a chance to pull them down yet. There was a crayon drawing of the Mind Flayer on the fridge beside photos Jon had taken of the family. But he didn’t care about the mess or the dysfunction of the palace. It was his home, and it would still be his home no matter what they went through, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he arrived in the lounge room and he sat heavily on the couch beneath the dark lettered alphabet, enveloped in darkness. There was no real reason to turn on the lights. He knew this place even in the dark, his eyes were slowly adjusting, and the light might wake either his mum or his brother, which nobody needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the dark, he thought he could see shapes emerge from the shadows, like slithering, skittering demo-dogs leaving slimy trails in the carpet, or the long-limbed, faceless, toothy monstrosity that Will called a demogorgon, and outside he thought that he could see the endless waving tentacle-like limbs of the Mind Flayer standing sentinel outside the window on the street, watching over the house, watching over Will-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shut his eyes, but that really didn’t help. Panic pushed up at his throat like bile, and air refused to travel through his lungs, trapped somewhere he couldn’t reach. Something touched his leg, the barest brush of fabric, and it took all his self-control not to kick out at it and tried to convince himself it wasn’t real. With his eyes closed, he wasn’t sure if those things in the darkness were making a move on him or not, or if they were even there at all, but all he knew was that it was weak and he was scared and he couldn’t breathe-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinctively, Jon reached over and picked up the landline, flicking on the little lamp as he did so, blinking at the sudden light, and dialled the first number he could remember off the top of his head without even thinking, and it wasn’t until the dial tone sounded that he realized that he had no idea who he had just called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’d be Hopper. Jon didn’t know his number too well, yet, considering he hadn’t had a real reason to call him lately, but maybe the panic that still flowed through his veins made him call the only real person who could help him? But maybe it was Nancy, and his body had subconsciously wanted to hear her voice, knowing she’d be happy to pick up the phone and talk to him until he sun came up even though she was tired. He hoped it was her. She always had a way of making him feel better during times like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost hung up before he could find out, nerves making his hands shake and realization hit him like a tonne of bricks, but before he got the change, the phone was picked up on the other end and he heard the distinctive sound of confused grumbling. “Hello?” Came a voice that was distinctly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nancy, and probably not Hopper either. “Who is this? It’s four in the fucking- hello? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s voice caught at his throat as he realized who was at the on of the line, and he probably stayed silent for a few moments too long before he cleared his throat and gripped the phone tighter. “Uh, hey, Steve,” he managed. “It’s me, Jon Byers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon?” Steve’s voice immediately changed from annoyed to concerned, and he sounded less sleepy than he had just seconds prior. “Is everything alright? What’s happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, nothing’s happened,” Jon amended. “Nothing like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Steve pressed. “Because you’re calling me at almost five o’clock, and you sound like you’ve just been running a marathon. Are you sure that there’s nothing wrong? Nothing at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing,” Jon shook his head despite knowing Steve couldn’t see it and reached a hand up to push his hair out of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve didn’t sound convinced, and Jon could hear it through the phone. He could imagine what Steve looked like- lounging over the back of the couch so he could reach the landline in the kitchen, his brow furred and his mouth pressed together in a hard line, twirling the cord absently around his fingers, resisting the urge not to roll his eyes. “Uh-huh,” Steve said. “So I can just hang up now and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Jon was saying before he could stop himself and felt something painful blossom in his chest, a familiar, shameful embarrassment. He prepared Steve to make some comment, to make some noise to acknowledge the desperation Jon heard in his own voice, but nothing came. “Don’t hang up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So something <em>has </em>happened,” Steve said. Jon was surprised to not hear any teasing or laughter in his voice. He sounded more serious than Jon had heard him in a while. “When I asked, I didn’t mean explicitly monsters or death or something. What’s happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon found himself really regretting leaving his room in the first place, and even more so for picking up the phone without checking to see who he was dialling. Nancy would understand without him having to explain it, and they would sit in silence for however long he needed, just enjoying each others company. Steve was different. Much different. “It’s nothing. It’s… stupid. I’m sorry I called you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, hold up man,” Steve sensed that Jon was about to hang up and stopped him before he had a chance, and Steve’s voice was so loud that Jon could hear it even with his ear away from the phone. “It’s obviously important if you called me up to talk about it. And I’m up now. So I’d rather you tell me what’s wrong so I can sleep tonight instead of staying up worrying about you until I get the chance to come over and see you in person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the last thing he needed, and he thought maybe Steve knew as much, and he hunched over the receiver more than was necessary, elbows on the table, as if he could hide the evidence of the act from invisible watching eyes. “I uh…” he began, struggling to get the words out. He licked his lips. “Had a nightmare tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, right,” Steve sounded sympathetic. “Those suck major balls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get nightmares?” Jon wasn’t sure what shocked him most. The fact that he was surprised by Steve’s admission, or that he had never considered it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course I do, dude. Everyone does. Us especially- we’re the only nut-cases who fight monsters as a hobby,” Jon thought that he could practically hear Steve roll his eyes. “I get them all the time. So does Robin. I’m sure Nancy and the kids get them too. It’s no surprise. Do you want to talk about it? I’m sure that’s why you called.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no,” Jon said. “I don’t. I’m not even sure why I called you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No sweat,” Steve’s answer was easy. “You just want the company, huh? I get that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were so many things that Jon wanted to say, wanted to ask, wanted to do, but that panic was still blooming behind his eyes and monsters prowled just outside the ring of light, waiting for him to let his guard down. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have a panic attack or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon felt his blood run cold, and the panic that threatened to overwhelm him got one step closer to doing so. He hadn’t told anyone about that. His mum, sure. Will, of course. Maybe he’d told Nancy during a drunken night after they survived another monster attack and almost died, but she wouldn’t tell anyone his deepest darkest secrets, not even Steve, right? But still, he found himself doubting, and his chest became tighter with every breath. “Did Nancy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve made a snorting sound, and Jon was sure he was choking on his spit. “<em>What</em>? No, dude, you know that she would never do that. Robin gets them sometimes too, is all, and you sound like she does right after it happens. She calls me too. After nightmares, during panic attacks, that sort of thing. I don’t mind, you know, when people call me. Dustin even called once, and that was a bit of a shock. But I never expected to get a call from <em>you</em>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jon didn’t know what to say. Steve’s rambling helped the monsters in the darkness slink off a little bit, but his lungs still burned and his heart still beat too fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause, and Jon was sure he missed the dial tone and Steve had hung up on him, but then Steve made a sound at the back of his throat and said, “Wait, dude, you’re not having one now, are you? Oh god, you are, right? This is what they sound like. Is that why you called me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why I called you,” Jon said, decisively not answering the other rapid-fire questions. He knew that Steve took notice, and he made a sound of protest that was only just loud enough for him to hear through the phone. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I should go-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe if you talk about your dream, and get it off your chest, you'll feel better."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I already said that I don't want to talk about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I often dream of being left behind,” Steve said in a startling moment of honestly, and Jon was stunned into silence. “Like, we get into some sort of fight, and I have to protect you and the kids, right? And I get hurt like I normally do, but I get hurt <em>really</em> bad. And instead of helping me out of there, or pretending to give a shit, you all just… leave. You. Nancy. Robin. Dustin and all the kids. Sometimes it’s Hop, too, but usually, it’s just us.” </span>
</p><p>The admission was so shocking that Jon took a few moments to regain his breath, and an extra few moments to come up with the right words to speak. “You know that would never happen though, right? We’d never just leave you there, especially if you couldn’t get away for yourself. It’s just a dream. It’s not real.”</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause and a faint scratching, like a chair being scraped across tiles, and Jon could picture Steve manoeuvring around his house so he could sit in the kitchen, poised on one of his mothers favoured tall chairs, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I mean, regardless if it’s a dream or not, I expect you guys would leave me behind if anything like that were to happen. Hope for it, really,” Steve chuckled, but it was a sad sound, and Jon found himself listening closer. “Someone has to take care of the kids when I’m not there anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon frowned. “But… why would you want that, Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sigh, so heavy and so close that it made the receiver rattle. “I’ve been having nightmares for a long time, Jon. I’ve dreamt of… literally every scenario. I know how it goes both ways, and believe me, it ends much better if you leave me. Otherwise, if you stay and try to help me? You all die, and I’m the only one who makes it out alive. You, Nancy, Robin, the kids. Everyone dies,” Steve’s breathing hitched, and Jon wished, not for the first time tonight, that he could see his face, could see the way he held himself, could see what was going through his head and showing plainly on his face. “You have no idea how hard it is to tell your poor mum that both her sons have died and there was nothing I could do to save them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Steve didn't proceed, Jon thought it was up to him to continue where he left off, and he shifted against the old, worn chair in their living room. "Well, that sounds like it sucks, but you know that when it really comes down to it, we'd come back for you no matter what, right? No questions asked. Me and Nancy and Robin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve made another sad sound, so faint this time that Jon had to strain to hear it. Steve didn’t sound convinced. "Sure, man, whatever you say. But it's your turn, now. You've heard my sad bullshit so you know that I'm not going to laugh at you. I want you to get back to bed before the sun comes up, at least."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, the last thing that Jon wanted to do was tell Steve about his nightmare, especially considering that the panic had finally started to recede and the monsters in the shadows crawled back to where they came from. "Everyone dies," Jon managed. He hated the way his voice sounded, and he cleared his throat. Steve waited patiently and didn't push. "I watch them get torn apart and killed by monsters, and I'm always the last one alive to watch them suffer. There's nothing I can do to stop it. There's never anything that I can do to change it, and I've tried. I always try to save them but… I'm just not good enough when it matters most."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could practically hear Steve’s wince. “Yeah. That one never stops sucking. Is that what you dreamt of tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon ran his knuckles over the wood and tapped his nails on the polished surface, the noise slightly comforting. If he had one of Will’s dice nearby, he’d be rolling that across the tabletop, just so he could hear it bounce and rattle along. But the sound might wake them up, and he didn’t want them to see him out here awake like this, as pathetic as it was. “Yeah. Will, mum, Nancy… I couldn’t save them. I could never save them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be fair,” Steve joked, always looking on the bright side. “Nancy can probably save herself in situations like that, and Joyce has Hopper, and Will has El and the other kids, so if that circumstance ever occurs, it’s <em>you</em> that you should be worried about. But don’t worry, I’ll save your ass if you need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Steve,” Jon couldn’t help but chuckle. It surprised him a bit. It had been such a bad night, filled with panic and loathing and paranoia, and he hadn’t expected to be laughing at the end of it. “Same here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, the dark sky was slowly growing brighter, the pitch-black faintly lightning to a different shade of blue. Not quite enough to be considering daylight yet, or even sunrise, but it was a few minutes off. His mum would be waking to get ready for work very soon, maybe within the last half hour, and he really didn’t want her to catch him like this, looking like a pathetic mess. Maybe he would make breakfast for everyone so Joyce didn’t have whip something up before rushing to work. Maybe then she could take her time, check that she had all her belongings, say goodbye properly. Early shifts were always the worst for her. She had never been a morning person, and now that they had all been plagued by nightmares for the last few years, waking up at the crack of dawn was a lot harder than it used to be. Will deserved a special treat every once in a while, and Jon was more than willing to indulge his little brother and spoil him rotten. Maybe a huge stack of pancakes with too much syrup and butter? Jon was good with pancakes and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was interrupted by an incessant voice in his ear, and he was so startled that he knocked his knee against the table louder than he would have liked. “Jon? Are you still with me man? Hello? <em>Jon</em>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry. I’m here,” Jon held the phone to his ear with both hands, glad now that Steve couldn’t see the blush that spread across his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>You</em> called <em>me</em>, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did. And I’m really sorry about that,” Jon cringed. “What were you saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you should come over to my place today,” Steve repeated, voice gentle and steady, and Jon nearly choked on his spit. “You know, hang out. What normal kids our age are supposed to do instead of fighting inter-dimensional monsters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you want that?” Jon could hardly believe it. Nobody, <em>ever</em>, invited him anywhere, much less to their houses to ‘hang out’. And never in a million years did Jon think that the first person to offer such an invitation would be Steve fucking Harrington, King Steve of Hawkins High.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sighed, and it sounded both impatient and understanding at the same time. “Because you sound like shit and you’ve called me at five in the morning after a nightmare and a panic attack. And you seem like you need a friend. I’m a friend, right? So come over, whenever you want. You know my parents aren’t home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon tried to come up with an excuse. “I’ve uh, I’ve got to take care of Will today. Mum’s working, so I have to watch him,” it wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Will was pretty much old enough to take care of himself, so all Jon had to do was make sure he wasn’t stolen by another demo-beast and ensure he stayed happy for as long as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Steve was having none of it. “No worries, bring him too. I’ve got a pool. Pack him a set of bathers and he can splash around in there while you and I hang out. I think it’s going to be a hot day tomorrow, anyway. Well, today, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t leave kids unsupervised around a pool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call Robin. She owes me a favour anyway, and she has a soft spot for Will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Jon could think of no real reason to decline. Joyce would be so proud of him and pleased that her sons were leaving the house for something other than work and school. Will would be delighted to play in the pool and not have Jon hovering over him like a paranoid mother hen all day. Jon… he could use a friend, actually. That sounded nice. “A-Alright,” he managed. “I guess… I’ll see you later today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fantastic. Can’t wait,” Steve replied, and Jon thought he actually sounded genuine. Eager, almost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Steve,” Jon bit his lip. “For uh, for not getting mad at me for waking you up, and for listening. And for inviting us over. I really appreciate it, and I don’t know how to repay you for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve snorted, and Jon imagined him shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, Byers? What else are friends for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon was only aware that he was alone when the phone clicked to signify the end of the call and the monotone sound buzzed annoyingly in his ear, and he put the phone back down in its place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should get started on that breakfast for everyone. He had a big day ahead of him, and he found himself surprisingly excited for it. It had been a long while since he had been excited for… anything, really. It had been too long since he’d thought about anything but fighting for his life or looking after Will or just surviving for as long as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The panic had disappeared by now, and he was amazed that he hadn’t felt it retreat. Normally, it plagued him until it faded, but tonight it was just there and then it wasn’t. Maybe he would wake up and call Steve more often if that’s what happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But right now, Jon found himself eagerly anticipating this afternoon for reason unknown to him, and realized just how desperately he needed someone like Steve. A real friend.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can somebody tell me anything about Jon's dad?? Like, I know that he was bad, but I don't really know... why? We know why Billy's dad is shit, and why Steve's parents are the worst, but I literally know nothing about Lonnie and I don't know where to start? I saw some analysis on Tumblr (which I'm going to write something based off) that referenced it but like, do we know anything about it in canon? I don't know. Somebody help. I've never watched the show, so.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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